


Person-sitting

by ProwlingThunder



Series: The Everlasting List of Shenanigans [185]
Category: Invasion America
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Culture Clash, Alien Monarchy, Gen, Nudity, Space pilots, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: Prompt!Fill.While on his downtime, Keir and the crew get a very important job from the Oosha himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZpanSven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZpanSven/gifts).



The truth is that Keir grew up in the Ooshati, so he doesn't really know what goes on with the rest of the universe.

He's seen the Oosha, in person even, because his father knew his personal bodyguard and helped pick him up from Earth years ago, when Keir was just a kid, and his father and the Oosha get along fairly well, and when they're docked on the Yacht the Oosha makes rounds and spends time with every crew. The man is their king, a God stuck in mortal form, the rightful ruler of their people, but he talks about a wife and children like he's just a normal person, just another Ooshati.

He doesn't wear a crown, or a flightsuit-- which is his right, Keir knows, because the man is bloody scary in a pilot seat and Keir would have loved to learn from him but he's never been offered and you just don't ask for things like that from the Oosha-- or anything vaguely resembling a uniform. Keir's pretty sure he's seen him getting greasy down in Maintenance, which is possibly the most un-kingly thing anyone can think of, but that's the sort of man the Oosha is.

Personable. Easy to get along with. Real and solid and untouchable just the same, because there are things you just don't do, even if he thinks, maybe, if he asked, the Oosha might say yes and give him flying lessons anyway, never mind Keir earned his own wings a long time ago.

But there is a lot Keir doesn't know about the outside world, people outside the Ooshati.

And there are people. They skim proper Tyrusian space on raids, and sometimes they run into some of the Dragit's patrol ships. And sometimes it's Keir's responsibility to get rid of them, but even still, those are ships. He never has to see the people inside them, which is good, because he knows if he thinks about it, then he'll be sick.

They also, occasionally, run into pirate ships. Sometimes poking debris belts. Sometimes harassing Dragit's ships. The Ooshati are Tyrusians trying to get the Oosha's throne back, so there aren't any aliens on board their raider or any raider or the Yacht, but Keir's gone through plenty of lessons, and he knows aliens exist too.

Sorry, other-planetary species.

Keir and the rest of his father's crew were hanging out in what constituted as a rec-room when the Oosha stepped in and they all kind of... fumbled to attention. It used to be the main room of the family suite they share. It was just the five of them, since his father was out in a meeting with the Oosha-- or was supposed to be, except the king was standing in front of Keir looking intently amused. Keir swallowed down a flush of hot embarrassment; he'd not been doing anything wrong!

“Keir, isn't it? You're Suta's boy.”

“Yes sir.”

The Oosha nodded, clearly having been expecting that answer, and glanced at the rest of the crew. Narov shifted nervously under his attention, but the rest were older than both of them, were his dad's age, and remained entirely controlled. Apparently finding what he was looking for, the Oosha half-turned from them and glanced at the doorway.

“I need you to look after a friend for me. This is Valen. He's... visiting, for the moment.” The stranger stepped inside, lingering by the frame, covered in a thick, dark cloak. Clawed fingers worried a seam, and Keir could just make out the vague shape of his face in the shadows. But what he couldn't understand at all was the chill dancing it's way up his spine, the tingling sensation of something horribly, terribly wrong. “Valen, this is Suta's crew. They'll look after you.”

The cloaked head cocked itself sideways. “Are they trustworthy?”

Keir bristled and had to bite his tongue. Of course they were! What could the Oosha tell them that would pass their lips again? Nothing! But the Oosha himself nodded, and reached over to rest a hand on Keir's own shoulder, solid and comforting and reassuring and demanding all the same. “I trust them. You have my word on that.”

The frayed edge of the cloak dropped. The clawed hand reached up and tugged at the edge of the hood, dropping it backwards to reveal a sharp, easy face. Two-toned hair, and eyes that cut Keir's soul down to the bone. That feeling spread from his spine outwards, forwards, grabbing hold of his heart. And then the stranger looked back at the Oosha again, and raised an eyebrow.

“I promise.” The Oosha smiled faintly, then glanced back at Keir, suddenly sober again. “As the pilot, you're in charge of the ship when the captain is away. Valen's presence might cause a stir.” He took a moment to eye the rest of the crew, just as serious, just as demanding. Narov didn't flinch this time. “We cannot afford that. I need you all to watch him, keep him safe. He's not an Ooshati-- he can't go anywhere outside this suite without an escort. One of you must accompany him at all times.”

“We will,” Keir swore, and heard it echoed four times by the rest of the crew. He was Suta's son, and what he did or didn't know about the rest of the universe, he wore a ship's authority like his own cloak, and he knew his crew. They'd do their jobs with flying colors.

“I know you will.” The Oosha squeezed his shoulder once, reassuring, and then let go, pointing firmly to an empty chair in the corner. It was the best chair in the whole room; everything was visible from there. He was looking at the stranger though, at Valen. “Stay here. Try not cause too much trouble.”

“It's your territory.” Valen gave him a humoring smile, showing teeth. They were sharp-- not saw-like, but sharp even still. Canines. Carnivorous. But he stalked across the room to the chair in question and dropped his cloak on the floor next to it, draping himself over the arms. A booted foot planted itself in the potted, exotic tree situated nearby. He looked like the picture of disobedient obedience.

The Oosha narrowed his eyes at him for a moment and then nodded. Keir and the others saluted him as he left.

By the time the door closed, Valen was unbelting his shoes and shrugging out of his clothes.

Keir gaped at him. But luckily Lysce was the only one of them to form real words, ever conscious of the rest of them and perhaps too-talkative. Lysce didn't even believe in stripping down for laundry day. “What are you doing!”

Valen turned golden eyes to them and frowned, even as he undid his belt and kicked off his pants. “Hm?”

Keir's eyes found themselves attached to the huge scar-patterns that marred his back; circlets of what might have been puncture wounds over each shoulder, thin stripes just-so-far apart, crosshatching one way and then the other in a checkerboard. Attack wounds, absolutely. Animal maybe. But jaws and paws that size should have killed him, how was he still standing?

“Put some clothes on!” Lysce demanded, and Valen's frown deepened like he thought Lysce was crazy. Keir stayed quiet.

“I have to sleep. I can't stand these ridiculous contraptions you people call clothes.”

“Ridiculous!”

Valen ignored him and dropped the rest of his clothes in the pile, picking up the cloak. He tipped the chair forward to rest on it's face, and then shoved the top of it against the wall. It left a pretty sizable hole; the chair was broad and rather high-backed, virtually a couch. Keir watched as the stranger unfurled the cloak over the hole, and then got down and crawled inside of it, vanishing behind the cloth as Lysce sputtered in indignation.

Narov elbowed him in the side, whispering. “What did we just see?”

Keir shrugged. Alien hibernation ritual, maybe? Who knew? “Let's get back to the game. I believe I was winning...”

As expected, Lysce rounded on him at once to refute his claim.

Keir kept an eye on the stranger's corner though. The Oosha had given him an order, and it didn't matter what he did or didn't know.


End file.
